


Pissing on the Dragonfires

by TheLadyGrim



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon Dialogue, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Humor, Oblivion Main Quest, Swearing, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-10-10 03:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17418005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyGrim/pseuds/TheLadyGrim
Summary: A retelling of the Oblivion main questline. Starring a reluctant hero, confused priest/emperor, a bunch of incompetent Blades and one randomly appearing assassin.





	1. Chapter 1

Oh Auriel, my head…What happened?   
Ohhh I do not feel good, I remember drinking. I remember drinking a lot; but after that…where am I? It’s so bright and gahhh does it smell bad, like sewers and blood and vomit. The vomit would probably be me, it would explain the taste of skeever ass, but the sewers? Am I in the sewer? No its too damn bright for the sewers and- Is someone talking to me?

“Pale skin, snotty expression. You're a Breton! The masters of magicka, right? Hmph. You're nothing but a stuck-up harlot with cheap parlor tricks. Go ahead, try your magicka in here. Let's see you make those bars disappear.”

Wow that voice is annoying. And rude. Not something I want to wake up to on a good day, but when I’m already hungover, and apparently in jail? Ohhh… 

I carefully started to get to my feet, head spinning as I squinted against the bright rays of sunlight streaming through a tiny window set high in the wall. On the other side of the room thick bars blocked the doorway, and in the next cell there stood one of the rattiest looking Dunmer I’d seen since that trip to Morrowind. Yep definitely in jail.

“No? What's the matter? Not so powerful now, are you Breton? You're not leaving this prison 'til they throw your body in the lake. Oh, that's right. You're going to die in here, Breton! You're going to die!”

As much as I might wish to at the moment, death is unlikely, typically with a case of public intoxication the guards just throw you in a cell until you sober up, of course I don’t precisely recall what I did between that fourth drink and waking up here… hmm, this could be bad. Gingerly I tried to call the glow of magicka to my hands, conjuring up a faint healing spell to ease my head, and the tiniest flicker of fire to help ward of the damp. I’m not a master of destruction by any means, but typically I should be able to call up something bigger than a candle’s worth of flame, I tried again and this time the effect was even weaker, nothing but a puff of smoke and some sparks. Shit.

The screech of a door opening and the hurried, almost panicked clank of armored footsteps echoed through the hallway, breaking me out of my reverie as across from my cell the asshat Dunmer started cackling.

"Hey, you hear that? The guards are coming... for you! He he he he he he."

By the Nine who laughs like that? If that’s the guards I’m going to ask to be moved to a different cell away from this freak. It doesn’t sound like the guards though…  
"Baurus! Lock that door behind us!"

It wasn’t the guards.

It was instead two men and a woman in what appeared to be ancient Akaviri armor and an old man in a dress and some exceedingly gaudy jewelry. Looks like I was going to have some company in the drunk tank. 

"My sons ... they're dead, aren't they?"

Oh damn. Well that was tragic, but why were they bringing the poor codger down here? Oh gods had I-

"We don't know that, Sire. The messenger only said they were attacked."

Sire? Was this some kooky nobleman with delusions of grandeur and clearly terrible fashion sense? At least it sounded like I hadn’t drunk murdered someone.

"No, they're dead. I know it." 

The women apparently didn’t know what to say to that, and honestly who would? “My job right now is to get you to safety."

"I know this place ... the prison?"

"Yes, your Majesty. Beneath the Legion Compound. We're headed for a secret passage known only to the Blades. No one can follow us through here-“ And that’s when they saw me.

"What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off-limits!"

One of the armored guys started stuttering an excuse, which she was apparently in no mood to hear. "Never mind. Get that gate open. Stand back, prisoner. We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way."

Why was everyone so RUDE?

I backed toward the window as the four of them trundled into my cell and locked the door behind them. The guard lady making a beeline for one wall where she randomly began to press on the stones surrounding the tiny sleeping alcove as her two compatriots took up positions guarding the door. The old man seemed lost, looking about aimlessly. When he saw me though, his whole face seemed to shift, eyes kindling with a fanaticism that had me pressing myself as far into the corner of my tiny cell as possible. 

“You, I’ve seen you! Let me see your face…”  
He shuffled closer, peering eagerly at me, "You are the one from my dreams..."

That was a bad pickup line even outside prison.

“Then the stars were right, and this is the day, Gods give me strength!” 

I eyed him nervously, “What’s going on?” You come any closer sir and the gods are not going to be able to help you. 

He didn’t seem to notice my willingness to smack his ancient ass back to the Mythic Age but one of his guards, a young Redguard man started toward us as though he meant to intervene. Meanwhile, the old guy continued blithely on. 

"Assassins attacked my sons, and I am next."

Well that was unfortunate, but… “Who are you?” 

The fervor in his eyes seemed to gleam brighter, "I am your emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the Gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell."

Well that…I had no idea what to say to that. He did I suppose look a little like the portrait etched into the coin of the realm and it would explain the rather garish, eh attire; but it’s not like I had ever seen the emperor before. I had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth or not, if he was though… Azura, Almalexa and Vivec this is really, really bad.

The old guy; Emperor, continued to ramble, the spiel sounding almost rehearsed. "Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you have done... it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for. You will find your own path. Take care... there will be blood and death before the end."

Right…I would hope getting thrown in the imperial drunk tank isn’t what I’d be remembered for but he seemed to be implying something else. And I didn’t want any part in it.

An exclamation of triumph from the women cut the awkward conversation short, as the alcove wall she had been messing with receded into the floor to reveal a dark, dusty looking passageway. Quickly the three guards formed a loose circle around the Emperor and marched through, the young Redguard bringing up the rear, "Looks like this is your lucky day. Just stay out of our way." 

I looked after them, temporarily immobilized by shock. This was ridiculous, this entire situation was ludicrous, and yet there was a way out of this cell…

And damned if I wasn’t going to take it.


	2. Escape and Assassination

I ran after the Emperor and his Blades. My fellow prisoner’s pleas for aid turning to curses behind me as he realized that I was not going to share my good fortune. How he even expected me to when the cell door was still locked, I don’t know, It’s not like this tiny little tunnel would have normally been my first choice for escaping. It was very ‘achooo’ very dusty down here. Top secret Imperial escape routes really should be cleaned more regularly, what if the Emperor were to catch a sniffle?

I caught up to the Emperor and his retinue just as several screaming men in black and red armor attacked, descending from ledges like demented bats. I hung back with the Emperor as the Blades rushed to the defense, blood spraying across the walls as they cut our assailants down with apparent ease. I heard a sharp cry as the surly female Blade was cut down, her sword clattering to the ground as she fell. The young Redguard bent to check her pulse as the Emperor took a hesitant step forward, grief once again darkening his expression, "Captain Renault?"  
The Redguard only shook his head sadly, "She's dead. I'm sorry, sire, but we have to keep moving."

The Emperor seemed taken aback slightly by the Blade’s callousness in leaving his fallen comrade but he only sighed mournfully as his remaining guards sheparded him toward a heavy reinforced door set into the far wall of a the antechamber. I trotted after the three, gingerly sidestepping puddles of blood and the grotesque tangle of corpses. I moved to walk through the door, only to find my way blocked by the Redguard, his face set in an unforgiving scowl. “Stay put prisoner, don’t try to follow us.” I could only gape as the heavy door was slammed in my face, trapping me once again in my now considerably enlarged cell. This was ridiculous! I could have helped protect the Emperor and instead they were just going to leave me here! What was all that talk of dreams and the Gods if they weren’t going to let me out? At the very least they could have let me be a meat shield until we got out of here, one more body between his grand Imperialness and whatever other assassins had discovered their top secret bolt hole.   
“Akatosh, Arkay, Dibella, Julianos Zenithar and Kyne, Lady Mara, merciful Stendarr and mighty Talos I don’t know what I did to deserve this but please, pleeeease let me out. I will visit every wayshrine in Cyrodiil. I will take vows and stop drinking. I will do whatever penance you want but please don’t leave me to die in here.” 

And for once in my life, it seemed the gods did something for me.

It started with a soft rustle that built to an echoing groan, dust raining down as a small patch of wall to one side of the room collapsed, leaving a large hole through which dim light could be seen. Eagerly I started towards the light, only to draw back in disgust as the biggest rat I had ever seen came bounding out, sharp teeth lunging for my throat as I scrambled for some means of defending myself. Cyrodilic rats can grow to the size of a small dog, they’re also vicious, sneaky, and loaded with all manner of disease. They are also not especially picky about what, or who they eat. I needed a weapon.  
Wildly looking about I spotted Captain Renault’s katana and dove for it, my fingers closing around the hilt just as a rat’s teeth clamped around my shin, pain shot up my leg as I clumsily swung at the little bastard, blood spurting as the blade went through its neck and severed the head. I kicked at the limp body and squirmed away in revulsion. I hate rats, I mean I really, really hate rats. When I was little my father had taken me on an expedition to excavate an old fort in the Valus Mountains, the rats there had been massive brutes, and I’d had nightmares about them skittering around the halls and leaping out of shadowy corners for months afterward. 

Getting to my feet I peered into the opening from whence the rat had lept. It looked like a network of natural tunnels reinforced in places by human hands, the narrow beam of light glinting down from high above and a half rotted well pail tied to some rope, suggesting the cave system might have been flooded at some point, though all that remained was an unpleasant chill dampness and mold that festered as it spread over what appeared to be a skeleton clutching to a rusty iron bow and quiver. I scooped up the bow and arrows along with a few coins and lock picks I found nearby and continued onward. If there were live rats and dead people down here then maybe there was also a way out. 

I made my way through the tunnels, taking out several more rats and one very rotten zombie. How it got down there I don’t know. Necromancy isn’t illegal in the empire, though public approval of corpse desecration has never been high. I had never studied the Black Art myself, but practicing it side by side with a top secret Imperial escape tunnel underneath Cyrodiil’s most heavily fortified prison seemed particularly unwise, even for a necromancer. After a while I started to notice a pervasive smell in the air, the stench of mold, excrement and rotting meat particularly noticeable within the cramped confines of the tunnel. I paused for a moment to tie some cloth over my nose and mouth, though in truth it did little to hide the stink. Ahhh, rats, zombies and now goblins, maybe when the emperor got finished running for his life he could commission a public work to clean up his escape tunnels. Secret and unused passage or not, no place within the walls of the Imperial city should have this many vermin running about. 

Although the smell warned me of the Goblins well in advance, I wasn’t expecting to walk out of the tunnel and into a cavern full of them. Truly something needed to be done if an entire colony of filth could flourish right under the feet of the Imperial Legion. Slowly I backed up into the tunnel and paused to consider my options. Were my magicka at full strength I could probably blast through the hoard, but as it was I could still barely summon a candle flame. I still had Renault’s sword and the rusty Iron bow, but my blade work and never been the best and while I was a decent shot, the product of a childhood spent hunting for my supper, this bow was nowhere near powerful enough to take out a goblin in one hit; by the time I finished taking down one goblin the entire pack would be upon me. That left only one option, to sneak my way through, a daunting task particularly given my relative inexperience with remaining hidden. 

I peeked around the corner and waited until the goblin nearest me was walking away, then moving as quietly as possible I followed, praying that the thick smell of goblins and their cage full of rats would disguise my own scent. When he turned suddenly to walk toward me I froze, my pulse hammering as I waited for the screech of alarm to ring out and for the horde to descend. To my surprise I heard nothing, and the goblin continued past mere inches from me without realizing I was there. It was at that point I realized, looking down at my hands that I had gone completely invisible, lacking even the tell-tale shimmer of a chameleon spell to betray my presence. Huh, I had heard that those born under the Shadow sign could do that, but I’d never been able to pull it off before. Apparently I just hadn’t been desperate enough. Emboldened, I straightened up and continued to walk briskly toward an opening at the other end of the cavern, with any luck, and I did seem to be having an abundance of luck today, that would be my way out.   
Despite my sudden bout of invisibility I still heaved a sigh of relief when I finally exited the cavern and began walking up a steep dirt ramp. Around me everything grew brighter, until finally I reached a crumbling hole at the end through which light poured. Stepping out, I was unprepared for a sudden drop, and I cursed audibly as my already injured ankle twisted from the landing. Clumsily I stumbled forward, again not noticing the second ledge until it was too late and I teetered over, landing with an ungraceful flop at the feet of the emperor and his guards. My ears ringing as I stared down the length of a blade suddenly held inches from my face.

"Dammit, it's that prisoner again! Kill her; she might be working with the assassins." Pfft, yes indeed clearly I am an assassin. The Guildmaster of the Dark Brotherhood in fact! Here to kill the emperor by squashing him to death as I fling myself off ridiculously placed ledges. The real assassins apparently liked my idea, because at that moment two of them jumped down from another ledge brandishing nasty looking maces and screaming. The Blades immediately left me and once again rushed to the Emperor’s defense, cutting their assailants down with admirable speed before once more turning on me as I tried to shrink into the wall. 

"No. She is not one of them. She can help us. She must help us." I don’t know who was more surprised, the Blades or I when the Emperor came to my defense. The older Blade seemed to sputter, duty to protect warring with duty to obey; before he sighed, defeated “As you wish, sire." 

The Emperor helped me to my feet, my ankle still throbbing from the abuse it had taken. He supported me for a few seconds as I tried to adjust my footing, taking the time to apparently resume the very one sided conversation from before. "They cannot understand why I trust you. They've not seen what I've seen. How can I explain? Listen. You know the Nine? How they guide our fates with an invisible hand?"

I could only nod stiffly, pain still lancing through my ankle as our group made its way through the chamber and into another hall as he continued. 

"I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens. The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well, and I wonder... which sign marked your birth?” He eyed me hopefully, clearly expecting an answer. Unfortunately if he was thinking my stars were the auspicious, ‘will one day save an emperor’ kind he was going to be sadly disappointed.

“I was born under the Shadow your majesty.” My birth sign was usually associated with thieves and murders, or spys if looked at through a charitable lens. Either way not typically a good sign to have, unless you need to hide from goblins I suppose.

“The signs I read show the end of my path. My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come."   
Well that seemed kind of morbid for a guy who was supposed to be running for his life, "What about me?” I didn’t particularly care about his answer, a birth sign might grant power, but as far as I was concerned we were responsible for our own fates. 

My question appeared to shock him out of whatever gloomy future he was imagining and he scrutinized me with renewed interest, "Your stars are not mine.” He stated, his voice short and clipped “Today the Shadow shall hide you from destiny's cunning hounds.” He sank once more into a morose, contemplative tone, "My dreams grant me no opinions of success. Their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death. But in your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied."

Right…

I tried desperately to keep my face neutral, I appreciated the fortuitous circumstances of my jailbreak, and I ‘supposed’ he was to thank for those circumstances- In an extremely round about manner, but I hadn’t, and wasn’t, going to promise aid with ANYTHING. Particularly to an old man who was starting to act more and more senile by the second.   
“Aren’t you afraid to die?” My voice absolutely oozed sarcasm, I knew; but the Emperor didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he was just too caught up in rosy dreams death and Akatosh’s bright glory to care.  
"No trophies of my triumphs precede me. But I have lived well, and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this I am blessed to see the hour of my death... To face my apportioned fate, then fall."

Well okay then, I’m sure the Blades appreciated his confidence in in their abilities. It was at that point that I realized I hadn’t been keeping track of where we were walking. The room we currently rushed through seemed bigger than the others, a twisting maze of columns and platforms with dark little alcoves in the walls. I felt a prick of sudden unease, if I were an assassin this is exactly the kind of place I would try and stage an ambush. The Blades also seemed to realize the increased danger, and our little group move faster as the emperor and I were hustled along. The concern was justified, as no fewer than seven of the dark armored assassins burst from within alcoves and behind pillars to attack. The two Blades charged them, stabbing left and right as their skilled katanas sought gaps in armor and drove through clothing to slice and skewer at the flesh beneath. My magicka still wasn’t up to full strength, though I could feel my power creeping back little by little, so instead I made use of the rusty old bow, aiming for soft spots that could incapacitate an assassin long enough for the Blades to swoop in and end him. The Emperor meanwhile did nothing, the elegant silver short sword at his side seemingly meant as a decoration rather than a weapon.   
We finished off the last assassin just as we reach a door at the far end of the room. The younger Blade going through first as the elder brought up the rear and the Emperor and I stayed relatively protected in the center, once we were all through the Blades paused to lock the door and let us catch our breath. 

"Where are we going?" I figured the Blades at least must have a destination in mind, it not like they would bring the emperor down here to just wander about until we got picked off by assassins.   
"I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for a while, then we must part." Truly, the Emperor’s confidence in his guards was an inspiring thing to witness.

We continued on and eventually came to a short staircase going down into yet another room. The older Blade motioned seemed nervous, looking around the room suspiciously as he sheparded us toward an iron gate off to the side and moved to open it.

"Dammit! The gate is barred from the other side. A trap!"

And that was when Oblivion broke loose

Screams rent the air as all around us assassins rained down, spiked maces gleaming dully in the wan light as each fought to get at the emperor. The young Redguard Blade grabbed the Emperor and I and swiftly shoved us into another narrow dead-end passageway before running back to help his comrade. “Protect the Emperor!” It was an order and a plea. The Blades would try to protect the passage entrance, but if they fell I was the last line of defense. Grimly I steeled myself, hefting the katana as I eyeballed the narrow hall, the sounds of combat echoed against the old stone, my pulse thrumming to the rhythm of blade against mace, when-

"I can go no further. You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants. He must not have the Amulet of Kings!

The Emperor clung to my arm like a lifeline, shoving a large, red, stone amulet into my hands and then backing away with a sad, resigned smile. I tried to hand the necklace back to him, tried to demand an explanation…tried to move, to defend, as behind him an alcove panel slid open and a black armored assassin emerged to plunge a knife through the Emperor’s back.


	3. The Amulet of Kings

No. No, Nononono… I watched as the Emperor fell, blood pooling around him, a red flood seeping across the flag stones. Red as the stained dagger turning toward me, red as the jewel I still held, the heart of a flame seeming to burn at its center. Belatedly I raised the katana to defend myself, faltering as the assassin loosed a feral shriek the eye behind his helm glittering with madness, “For Lord Dagon!” the bloody dagger arced down and I braced myself for the blow; he was too fast, I couldn’t block, couldn’t dodge…

More blood splattered as the young Redguard Blade shoved a sword up and through the assassin’s back, his black armor dissipating into smoke to reveal a very young-looking Dark Elf, clad in heavy red robes. Odd how I hadn’t noticed them before. Through the passageway arch I could see a pile of corpses dressed in similar robes, the shiny steel and enamel cuirass of the older Blade standing out among the mass like a jeweled beetle in the flesh of a cadaver. At the edge of the pile his katana lay, the blade dripping with blood. Red, there was so much red everywhere, it was dripping down the walls and streaming along cracks in the stone, soaking into the sack cloth sandals I wore, sliding cold and sticky over my feet.

I threw up.

After I was finished, I went and picked up the discarded sword, shuddering as my fingers closed around the gore slick hilt. Some warriors believed that the soul of the wielder resided in their blade. It shouldn’t be left to rot down here with the slain.

I turned back toward the fallen emperor and watched as the remaining Blade moved to cover the old man’s face, his eyes clouded with grief as he turned to face me, "We've failed. I've... failed. The Blades are sworn to protect the Emperor, and now he and all his heirs are dead-” He paused, seeming to try and gather his strength, before a sudden thought flooded his expression with panic, “The Amulet! where's the Amulet of Kings? It wasn't on the Emperor's body.”

At a loss for words I held the glittering scarlet jewel out to him, “The Emperor gave it to me…” _Please take it, please._

At my words a shocked expression crossed his face, swiftly replaced by one of doubt and consideration, "Strange. He saw something in you. Trusted you. They say it's the Dragon Blood, that flows through the veins of every Septim. They see more than lesser men. The Amulet of Kings is a sacred symbol of the Empire. Most people think of the Red Dragon Crown, but that's just jewelry. The Amulet has power. Only a true heir of the Blood can wear it, they say... He must have given it to you for a reason. Did he say why?"

I tried to think back on that muddled moment right before the Emperor fell. He had said something about the Prince of Destruction, a common title, I remembered, looking back at the Dunmer assassin, for the Deadric Prince Mehrunes Dagon. After that my memory was all panic as the assassin attacked, but in that last moment before he died…

“I must take it to Jauffre. There is another heir.”

He paused, considering for a moment before shaking his head, "Nothing I ever heard about. But Jauffre would be the one to know. He's the Grandmaster of my Order. Although you may not think so to meet him. He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory, near the city of Chorrol."

I vaguely remembered the place he was talking about, a quite little spot just outside the City walls with more sheep than people and a truly lovely chapel dedicated to Talos. My father and I had stayed there for a few days while excavating the nearby ruins of Wendir.

“I know the place.”

"First you need to get out of here. Through that door must be the entrance to the sewers, past the locked gate. That's where we were heading. It's a secret way out of the Imperial City. Or it was supposed to be secret. Here. You'll need this key for the last door into the sewers."

My fingers closed around the key numbly, “The sewers?” The Imperial sewers were damn nasty. The extensive network of tunnels and chambers entwined with ruins that predated the empire may have kept the city itself from wallowing in filth, but the tradeoff was a labyrinth home to every kind of vermin and pestilence imaginable.

He nodded, "There are rats and goblins down there... but from what I've seen of you. I'm guessing you have experience with these things.”

Um no, there was a massive difference dungeon delving with my father for academic purposes and taking a jaunt through a sewer that hadn’t been renovated since the reign of Katariah. The Blade however seemed to share none of my concerns.

"Take it easy. You'll be fine. I know this is a lot to take in all at once. No one's more surprised than me that I'm sending an escaped prisoner off with the Amulet of Kings! But the Emperor trusted you for a reason, and I trust the Emperor. The Amulet of Kings must get to Jauffre at Weynon Priory. He'll know what to do with it. Jauffre should know how to find the heir that the Emperor spoke of. The Amulet must reach Emperor Uriel's heir so a new emperor can be crowned!" he ushered me through the alcove opening and to a round hatch set in the floor.  "I'll stay here to guard the Emperor's body, and make sure no one follows you. You'd better get moving. May Talos guide you."

“ok, um thanks” I stuttered as I began to descend the hatch into the fetid corridors of the sewer. The Blade turned back to me just as I prepared to close the hatch, “My name’s Baurus by the way, what do you go by?”

I hesitated, I didn’t particularly want him to be able to find me again, my first name was common enough, particularly among the more devout followers of the nine, My surname however would be sure to raise some eyebrows.

“My name is Alessia”


	4. A Breath of Freedom

Without assassins leaping down from all corners the trip through the sewers was a breeze. A smelly, grimy breeze fraught with rats, mud crabs and goblins but a breeze none the less, and when I finally stepped out into the open air-

Ahhh.

It was so nice to breath freely again.

Directly in front of me across the still waters of Lake Rumare rose the graceful arches of an Ayleid ruin, the white stone seeming to glow in the rays of a dying sun. It would be dark soon, and the ruins would be an excellent place to camp for the night.

As I swam toward the ruin I relished the feel of water slipping over my skin, accumulated grime sluicing away. To my right I saw the bladed fin of a slaughterfish snake towards me and I paddled faster, all too aware of what those teeth could feel like chomping down on a limb. Slaughterfish weren’t dangerous but the bites were nasty and had a tendency to get infected; The flesh had a very nice flavor though, once I got a fire going maybe I’d try my hand catching supper.

Getting out of the water, I was so busy licking my chops I failed to notice the arrow speeding toward me, a chance step the only thing that saved me as the projectile bit into the grassy bank. Startled I looked up to see a battle axe wielding Redguard racing toward me as the wood elf behind him lined up another shot. _Of course I’d run into bandits five minutes after escaping prison. Truly the gods must laugh._

I sidestepped the axe swing, spinning to slap a palmful of fire into the bandit’s undefended back. _Yes!_ My power was coming back, slowly but surely, I could feel it trickling into my blood. I felt a giggle bubble up as the bandit screamed, his iron armor buckling under the heat as he was baked alive in the heavy metal carapace. Most non-mages don’t realize how well metal armor conducts magicka, though in my experience some metals work better for specific elemental attacks than others, Iron for instance is EXTREMLY vulnerable to fireballs.

Leaving the Redguard for the moment, I sprinted for the bandit archer, closing the distance just as she finished nocking another arrow, practically useless now as I stood mere inches from her. Clumsily she flubbed the shot, arrow harmlessly slipping from the bow as I pounced, slashing wildly with the katana. It certainly wasn’t my most graceful kill, and I felt a stab of pity as she fell, blood pouring from numerous cuts; for a moment I saw the Emperor’s body again, saw blood spilling across cracked flagstones…

I shook my head to clear the image, his death wasn’t my fault, and unearned guilt wasn’t a healthy thing to carry around. The other bandit still twitched feebly on the grass, his wounds not bad enough to kill him immediately; though without a healer he’d probably go into shock and die soon. For a second, I hesitated, contemplating a moment before briefly summoning the flickering golden aura of a healing spell; then allowing the power to drain from my fingertips. I wasn’t a particularly gifted healer to begin with, but whatever malady currently draining my mana left me with too little power to properly heal the damage I had wrought.

A quick jab through the throat finished him off, blood gurgling for a few seconds as he died. The bandits’ campfire still crackled merrily in the ruins, a bedroll, tent and provision cozily arraigned around the blaze. I took some of the food and sat down by the fire to clean the katana. I was surprised Baurus hadn’t asked for his companions’ swords, though I supposed he might have been to distraught over the Emperor’s assassination to think of it. Maybe when I went to see Jauffre in Chorral-

Was I going to Chorral?

I pulled the red stone amulet from my pocket, turning it over in my hands, watching as the firelight played across smooth facets.  For a moment I pondered. Technically I had no obligation to go to Chorral with the Amulet. I hadn’t actually agreed to do so after all. And while the Emperor had, _implied_ that he wanted me to take the Amulet to Jauffre, I would argue that it was a strongly worded request rather than an order. But…

But he had trusted that I would do it.

And since I currently had no plans but to wander, I might as well wander in the general direction of Weynorn Priory. I could hand over the Amulet and be on my way and maybe there would even be a small reward for its safe delivery.

Satisfied with my decision I stoked the fire into a cheerful blaze that would burn for awhile and curled up in the abandoned bedroll. Perhaps it was a bit macabre to sleep in the bed of someone whose corpse still lay just a few yards away, but at this point I was past caring. The blankets were warm and dry, the pillow relatively fluffy. Tomorrow I would head to Chorral with the Amulet of Kings, but for tonight I gazed up at the star spackled sky and wondered what the Emperor had seen in the heavens that made death such an easy thing to live with.

Live with, hmm that’s a bit of linguistic acrobatics seeing as how he’s dead. would die with be more appropriate given the circumstances? I wonder if…if…zzzzz.

 


	5. Weynon Priory

The road between the Imperial City and Chorral was one of the most well-patrolled and maintained in Cyrodiil. The thick forest canopy creating puddles of dappled shade as I walked. Every once in a while I would see an Imperial forester or guardsmen, their already stark, utilitarian armor made even more somber with the addition of a black armband. News of the Emperor’s death had traveled swiftly and while people weren’t visibly panicking yet there was a definite aura of uneasy dread. Uriel Septim’s three adult sons had been murdered in a similar fashion to their father, leaving no obvious heir to the Imperial throne. There were passels of cousins of course, but from what I gathered none of them had a particularly strong claim. Royal blood was all well and good, but only a Septim could legally hold the throne, and as far as anyone but me, Baurus and apparently this Jauffre knew, the Septims were all dead. 

The priory was exactly as I remembered it from when I was little, an old manor house, some outbuildings and a chapel nestled peacefully in the shadows of great beech and oak trees. A picturesque herd of fluffy, snow white sheep grazing happily in a neat little pen, all lovingly watched over by a middle aged Dunmer in a smith’s apron.

I waved to catch the mer’s attention, “hail sir!”,

“oh Hello! "I'm the shepherd here. Eronor's the name. And this is Weynon Priory."

“Alessia, I have a delivery for Jauffre.”

He smiled, motioning toward the house “If he's not sleeping or eating, he'll be fussing with his books, I reckon, over in the Priory House."

Thanking him I made my way into the Priory House, politely greeting a black robed Prior before ascending the steps. Upstairs there was what appeared to be a nicely appointed study. Seated at the desk at one end was a very old Breton man in monk robes, pouring over a book with feverish intensity. “Jauffre?”

He looked up, irritated “hm, yes? I'm Brother Jauffre. What do you want?"

“The Emperor sent me to find you-”

"Emperor Uriel? Do you know something about his death?" I felt like there was a pinch in my mind, a niggling feeling as though someone was taping at my psyche.

“I was there when he died…He gave me the Amulet of Kings.”

"You brought me the Amulet of Kings? This cannot be. Let me see it."

I little taken aback by his tone, I hesitated, something in his expression seemed overly excited, though I suppose the Emperor had been dead and the Amulet missing for nearly a week. Perhaps he was just relieved.

Wordlessly I removed the Amulet from my pocket. I had tried wearing it, think that it would be safer around my neck than anywhere else, but for some reason the chain kept slipping off. I handed it to Jauffre still feeling that tap in the back of my mind

“By the Nine! This IS the Amulet of Kings! Who are you? How did you get this? What do you know of the Emperor's death?"

And so I told him. I told him about how I woke up in prison with no memory of how I got there I told him about the escape, how the Emperor had walked with me through those twisting corridors speaking of destiny and prophecy and Oblivion, I told him how two of the Blades fell, and how we were back into a seemingly dead end when a final assassin appear to shove a deadric blade through the Emperor’s heart. I told him exactly what the Emperor said before he died.

At the end he stood, gaze darting between the blood red stone in his hand and the twin katanas I had placed on his desk. "As unlikely as your story sounds, I believe you. Only the strange destiny of Uriel Septim could have brought you to me carrying the Amulet of Kings." He paused, seeming to consider. "The Prince of Destruction he referred to is none other than Mehrunes Dagon, one of the lords of the demonic world of Oblivion. The Emperor's words-- "Close shut the jaws of Oblivion"-- certainly suggest that he perceived some threat from Oblivion. But all the scholars agree that the mortal world is protected from the daedra of Oblivion by magical barriers."

Well I knew all that, even the most backwoods hedge witch knew about the different deadric princes and the barrier between Nirn and Oblivion. And despite my currently scruffy appearance, I was no hedge witch.  Jauffre continued his monolog.

“Only the Emperors truly understand the meaning behind the rituals of coronation. The Amulet of Kings is ancient. Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods. It is a holy relic of great power. When an emperor is crowned, he uses the Amulet to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. With the Emperor dead and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark, for the first time in centuries. It may be that the Dragonfires protected us from a threat that only the Emperor was aware of."

 Ah yes my dearly beloved namesake, “The Emperor said to find his son.” Well specifically he had ASKED ME to find his son, but it was again a request, not an order. As soon as Jauffre stopped droning on I was out of here and away

"I am one of the few who know of his existence. Many years ago, I served as captain of Uriel's bodyguards, the Blades. One night Uriel called me in to his private chambers. A baby boy lay sleeping in a basket. Uriel told me to deliver him somewhere safe. He never told me anything else about the baby, but I knew it was his son. From time to time he would ask about the child's progress. Now, it seems this illegitimate son is the heir to the Septim Throne. If he yet lives."

Huh, interesting that the Emperor would send the kid away like that, from what I had heard of the Empress she didn’t seem the type to punish a bastard for his father’s philandering and from the sound of it the Emperor had cared about the boy. Maybe he was trying to preserve his public image?

"His name is Martin. He serves Akatosh in the Chapel in the city of Kvatch, south of here. You must go to Kvatch and find him at once. If the enemy is aware of his existence, as seems likely, he is in terrible danger. And please, let me know if there's anything you need. My resources here are limited, but I will help in any way I can."

Jauffre made a little shooing motion with his hand as he prepared to return to his book, clearly expecting me to go and do as I was told.

“No.”

He looked up at me sharply, not expecting that at all. What was wrong with these people? I wasn’t a member of the Legion or the Guard or the kriffing Blades. I wasn’t even a merc. They couldn’t just conscript me with a snap of the fingers and send me off to do their dirty work. Did they not realize that regular people have lives to?

Jauffre, apparently didn’t realize it at all, staring at me with utter bafflement.

 “No?”

“No.”

His gaze hardened and he glared at me, mouth pursing like he’d just swallowed something unpleasant, “If it’s money you want, I’m sure the Throne and Blades will be happy to compensate you handsomely-“

“I don’t want money, I brought you the Amulet, AS I WAS ASKED, to repay the Emperor for helping me escape. Now it’s time for you to do YOUR JOB and go get the heir. I am done! Finished!”

I stared down at him breathing heavily as we exchanged mutual glares, then he turned back to his book; dismissive. "Waste no time. You must find Martin before the enemy does."

I damn near exploded, managing to rein in my temper just enough to walk out and down the stairs then through the priory doors. I was almost a hundred yards down the road heading away from Chorral and the Priory and _Jauffre._ Before I started screaming, shouting every obscenity I could think of at the sky as I continued to march down the road. It had been a very, very stressful week and as I told Jauffre, I was DONE. Maybe he’d realize that after a couple weeks when I didn’t show up again, then he’d get off his ass and go get the priest himself. For my part, I decided I was going to Anvil, maybe I’d catch I ship to the Summer Isle or Highrock, see if one of my Father’s friends or relatives knew where he was. Maybe I’d just stay in Anvil, settle down and join the Mages guild. Either way I hoped that the cool sea breeze would be enough to wipe away the memories of the past week, and maybe ease that constant niggling tap in the back of my mind that I was breaking a promise I’d never made.  


	6. Kvatch

I stopped in Kvatch, of course I did, It’s the last major city on the way to Anvil, bigger even than Skingrad, and I would argue prettier as well. Kvatch was a lush city of gardens and plazas, before her passing Lady Goldwine had ordered the planting of several gardens throughout the city to commemorate her two sons, killed in some stupid feud over the succession. Count Goldwine was also not a bad Count, though from what I’d heard the grief of losing his entire family weighed heavily on him. Regardless the city was extremely prosperous, with people coming from all over Tamriel to compete and bet on the fights in the Kvatch Arena. I had no intention of participating in the fights of course, but if I was smart I could win quite a bit betting on the outcomes.

Walking back toward the front gates to leave the city I stopped to gaze up at the chapel, gnawing at my lip with indecision. I didn’t want to be involved. I wasn’t involved dammit! But even so…

The chapel was quiet save for the faint echoes of whispered prayers and the smell of incense wafted up from small braziers to filter through the shafts of light that streamed through the windows. I wasn’t…on good terms with the gods, or daedra, or really any of the powers that be. The Aedric pantheon didn’t do much for its supplicants so far as I could tell. But I did so love the stained-glass windows of the Nine’s temples. Priests wandered throughout the chapel, tending to the shrines and quietly talking to worshipers. Early morning devotions had just finished, and the faithful were now dispersing to breakfast. Up front at the central altar a single priest seemed to be tending the shrine, though for the life of me I couldn’t guess what he was actually doing. As quietly as possible I edged toward the wall, trying to get a better look at the stunning interplay of light and colored glass that adorned the temple walls while avoiding the priest. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was here, but I definitely wasn’t in the mood to be preached at.

“Greetings traveler, may I assist you?” I froze like a rabbit in the hunter’s sights, Oblivion take sharp eyed clergyman and their incessant need to “engage” with every hapless soul who wandered into their lair.

Struggling, I pasted something that might have passed as a smile on my face before turning around. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I was just admiring the stained glass.”

The priest brightened, “The windows are magnificent, aren't they? The glass was made in Morrowind, but the work of construction was done here in Kvatch by a local craftsman.”

Hmm, it seems I had found another art lover.

We walked up and down the chapel, comparing the different windows and their counterparts in the other great chapels of Cyrodiil. See while the design is basically the same from chapel to chapel, the workmanship and upkeep of the temple often revealed the inner soul of the city, or at the very least it's leadership. The windows here were stunning, masterpieces unrivaled by anything I had seen before. They and the chapel were also clean, hinting at a dedicated staff in attendance. Despite the temple’s splendor however, it was surprisingly welcoming. With soft cushions and colorful throws softening the otherwise hard pews. All in all I got the impression of a wealthy, thriving city that was not quite as removed from its humble origins as I would have expected. The priest likewise seemed a kind man, and although undoubtedly well learned he didn't appear to be plagued by the snobbery that so often infects officiants of the Nine. Truthfully it was enjoyable to just talk about art for a while, almost a catharsis after days of being gnawed at by guilt.

Finally, we had made the full circuit of the chapel and stood before the three sets of great doors leading out. I felt a tad reluctant to be on my way but if I didn't leave soon, I wouldn't make it to Anvil until well after dark. With the Emperor's death the roads were no longer as safe to travel. Thanking the priest for his time I turned to leave, only to be stopped by a hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

“Before you go...if you need anything, the temple can help.”

Surprised and a little amused I shook my head, “Thank you, but I don't need charity.” That much at least was true, I had managed over the last few days to win a little over six thousand septims betting on the arena fights, it had been risky, but now I had a nice little nest egg to set myself up with. Charity however was apparently not what the priest had in mind.

“The temple concerns itself with the spiritual well being of all who come here, and you seem...forgive me but you seem deeply troubled. If you require counsel between yourself and the Nine I would be happy to help, no one is beyond redemption-” I quickly moved toward the door, I didn't want get into this. Talking to a priest about guilt over unmade promises was not going to help it go away, I SHOULDN'T have guilt in the first place.

But I did.

“Please, if you ever need to talk, I’m always available; even if all you want is someone to look at the windows with. Just ask anyone here for Brother Martin, and I’ll make time.”

I froze.

Martin. This was Martin, this was the priest Jauffre wanted, the son Uriel Septim had begged me to find and keep safe.

I could have told him everything. I could have taken him to Jauffre, could have kept him, kept everyone, safe.

I didn't.

I marched out of the chapel, the priest's concerned voice ringing in my ears, I marched through the city gates never looking back, I marched until I reached the edge of the wilderness. And then I ran.


	7. Fleeing the Gods

For a few days I ran through the wilderness trying to flee the senseless, stupid guilt. I slaughtered my way through numerous forts full of bandits, plunged headlong into Ayleid ruins and musty caverns. 

I ran, and I fought, and when I closed my eyes I saw the world burn.


	8. Buying Benirus Manor

I finally arrived at Anvil amidst pouring rain and the crackle of thunder, tilting my head back as I let it wash away the nightmares that had been my constant companions since leaving Kvatch. In the end I had made peace with my decision to leave Martin, from what I had seen he was a good man in a place where he could do good. He clearly wasn't unhappy with his life and he had ...passion yes I suppose it was passion, for what he was doing. And for whatever reason I couldn't stand the thought of that spark being snuffed. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did.

No, I would not draft another clueless innocent into this farce the way I had been drafted. If Jauffre wanted the priest he could go get him, or better yet one of the Emperor's hundreds of cousins could take the stupid throne and Martin could remain safely in Kvatch, happily officiating marriages and indoctrinating small children into the temple. For my part, I was done.

My conscience finally laid to rest in the matter of Martin's future, I began to contemplate securing my own. I had pretty much given up the thought of sailing to Summerset. My Father’s family was less than pleased with my existence, though one of my aunts might have helped for his sake. High Rock was also a no go; Papa was extremely careful about who he let in on his research projects. Considering he hadn’t even told me what he was doing, I doubted any of his colleagues knew either.

Papa would show up when his curiosity was satisfied. In the meantime, I needed to get on with my own life. I’m a damned good mage if I do say so myself, the blessing of my combination of Altmer and Breton blood tempered by a childhood spent around some of the greatest mages and scholars in Tamriel. The Mages Guild was built for people like me, but first I wanted a little place of my own. Being in a guild may guarantee food and a bed, but neither would be of particularly good quality.

Interestingly, this concern was to be taken care of much more quickly than I would have anticipated. Poking around town I had heard that one Velwyn Benirus was looking to sell his ancestral home. A dilapidated mansion on the edge of the city surrounded by wild gardens, Benirus Manor appealed to something in my soul. It would need work, but already I could picture how beautiful the elegant manor would look when properly cared for. I had never lived in one place for very long, Papa’s work took him, and by extension me; across the length and breadth of the continent. The thought of living in someplace long enough to make it mine, to make it _home_ , filled me with an indescribable yearning.

I found Velwyn Benirus at the Count’s Arms, the nicer of Anvils two inns. He seemed a morose fellow, miserably staring into his drink like he wished he could drown himself in the wine. At my sudden presence at his table though, he looked up quickly a wide smile suddenly plastered over his face. It was not a particularly…trustworthy expression. This man was obviously desperate, but why?

"You wouldn't happen to be in the market for a home would you? If you are, I just happen to be selling a manor located right here in Anvil."

I nodded cautiously, something was wrong here. The house was undeniably a wreck, but that didn’t explain why nobody had bought it.

“Yes, I’m looking into buying a house in town…you are Velwyn Benirus?” If he was some shyster looking to make a quick bit of gold on abandoned property that would explain the twitchiness.

"Yes, I'm selling my grandfather's house, Benirus Manor. If you're interested, I could let you have it for a modest sum. I have to sell it soon, as I have pressing matters elsewhere. You're welcome to take a look at it. It’s located across the street from the Chapel.”

Hmm, pressing matters eh? “I’d like to have a look inside before the purchase, sound it out for any structural issues.” Check around to see if there were other Benirus relative who might contest the sale.

My words, reasonable as they were, were apparently neither expected nor welcome, and Velwyn quickly lost the smile. “Once you buy, you get the key to the front door and the deed of ownership. That's the deal. Would you like to buy it now?"

I felt my eyebrows shoot for the sky. Although I had no experience in real estate, I was pretty sure that it was standard practice to inspect a house before buying it.

“And how much would I be paying on your good word and a rundown exterior?”

“10,000”

My heart sank as I saw my dream of a home of my own go poof. I didn’t have ten thousand septims. Slowly I got up from the table, a feeling of bitter disappointment souring my stomach. “I’m sorry Master Benirus, but I can’t pay that for a house I haven’t even looked at-“

“5,000”

I blinked at him, he’d just cut the price in half the moment I was walking away, just how desperate was this man?

Just how does desperate was I?

Handing over the crisp letter of credit for the withdrawal of five thousand septims at the Kvatch Bank, I thought I must be mad. Forking over this much for anything was insane, but for a house I hadn’t even seen? From this guy?

Maybe I should be looking into Shivering Isle real estate instead.

Or maybe Velwyn Benirus should.

"Excellent! Here's the key to the front door and the deed of ownership. Ihopeyouenjoyyournewhome. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must attend to those pressing matters I spoke of earlier. Good day."

Huh, you wouldn’t have thought such a twitchy, uncoordinated looking man would be able to run that fast. I don’t think he even bothered to pocket the bank letter. Looking out the big plate glass window I saw him as he sped through the city gates and down the road toward Kvatch.

He does realize that it’s still raining right?

Shaking my head I looked down at the small set of brass keys in my hand, their metal winking dully in the dim light streaming through the window. In my other hand I held the deed to Benirus Manor. My House.

I guess whatever crazy infected Velwyn Benirus got to me to in that moment. I know I looked like a damned idiot skipping out of the inn and down the rain-soaked street. But I honestly couldn’t help it, I was in the grip of a giddiness so profound it demanded release. I danced all the way to the dilapidated old house. My House. And paused at the base of the porch stairs, moments like this deserved to be savored.

Savoring lasted for just a second or two before I launched my self up the steps, pausing once more, shivering with anticipation before I inserted my key into the lock and opened the door. My door.


	9. A Haunted Awakening

The inside of Benirus Manor was actually better than I had expected. True, the cream tiled floor was cracked in several places and thick layer of dust coated everything, but as far as I could see the only real damage was in the main room where the chandelier had apparently come loose from the ceiling and obliterated a table. There was no rot, no collapsed floors or broken windows, all that was really needed was a good clean.

Dancing through the house. My house. I admired every grimy surface and the dainty patterns of footprints I left through the dust. Tomorrow I would go to the store for supplies and new furniture tonight however, all that I need to do was clean up the bedroom a bit. I found some sheets and blankets in a chest upstairs, and after beating the dust from the old mattress I was ready for bed. The room was still full of dust, but at the moment it simply didn’t matter. I had slept in Ayleid ruins, ancient castles and caves, one night in a dusty old house wasn’t going to kill me.

It would only nearly kill me.

I woke up around midnight to the grumbling hiss and slosh of ectoplasm dripping to the floor.

I know why Velwyn Benirus wanted to get rid of the house so badly.

And I’m going to kill him.

I rolled out of bed, hitting the floor just as a giant glob of ectoplasm hit the sheets right where I had been laying. Frost crackled across the blankets as the ghost once again took aim and I rolled away, sprinting for the balcony door as more ice rained around my head. I made the door and skidded out, slamming it behind me and vaulting over the metal railing to land in the street, one ankle twisted awkwardly beneath me. Two passing guards stopped to gape at me in shock, swords half drawn, apparently women dropping down from the sky in the middle of the night was not a common occurrence in these parts.

One of the guards reached out hesitantly, “Ma’am are you okay?”

I waved him off, “I’m fine thank you, just took a little tumble from the balcony.” Wide eyes followed my vague gesture upward.

“Ma’am if you don’t mind my asking, why were you up there?”

I glared at him, slightly miffed, “It’s my house, why shouldn’t I be up there?”

A look of understanding flashed across his face, “Ah, I’m sorry ma’am, I’d heard that somebody had bought the old place. Nobody’s lived there since old Lorgren snuffed it a few decades ago and sometimes we get kids breaking in.” Pausing he looked at me with new speculation in his eyes “Say miss, why’d you fall anyway?”

I gritted my teeth as my ankle started to throb persistently. “I was trying to chart the stars, I suppose the railing must have been loose.” It was a cloudy night, but he didn’t seem interested in questioning my story. Offering me a hand up, he was kind enough to offer me an escort to the Count’s Arms, suggesting quite gallantly that perhaps I should stay there until some workmen could be called to check over the house and make sure it was structurally safe. I thanked him as nicely as I could, I wasn’t sure what the Anvil watches policy was on ghosts but I wasn’t taking the risk that this was a raze the building and salt the ground type of city. I had paid good coin for my house, and it was going to remain whole and unburnt thank you very much. There were many ways to get rid of ghosts, you just had to know what caused the haunting in the first place, And to do that I needed to find the slimy skeever sucker that had sold me the place.


	10. Chapter 10

The inside of Benirus Manor was actually better than I had expected. True, the cream tiled floor was cracked in several places and thick layer of dust coated everything, but as far as I could see the only real damage was in the main room where the chandelier had apparently come loose from the ceiling and obliterated a table. There was no rot, no collapsed floors or broken windows, all that was really needed was a good clean.

Dancing through the house. My house. I admired every grimy surface and the dainty patterns of footprints I left through the dust. Tomorrow I would go to the store for supplies and new furniture, tonight however, all that I need to do was clean up the bedroom a bit. I found some sheets and blankets in a chest upstairs, and after beating the dust from the old mattress I was ready for bed. The room was still full of dust, but at the moment it simply didn’t matter. I had slept in Ayleid ruins, ancient castles and caves, one night in a dusty old house wasn’t going to kill me.

It would only nearly kill me.

I woke up around midnight to the grumbling hiss and slosh of ectoplasm dripping to the floor.

I know why Velwyn Benirus wanted to get rid of the house so badly.

And I’m going to kill him.

I rolled out of bed, hitting the floor just as a giant glob of ectoplasm hit the sheets right where I had been laying. Frost crackled across the blankets as the ghost once again took aim and I rolled away, sprinting for the balcony door as more ice rained around my head. I made the door and skidded out, slamming it behind me and vaulting over the metal railing to land in the street, one ankle twisted awkwardly beneath me. Two passing guards stopped to gape at me in shock, swords half drawn, apparently women dropping down from the sky in the middle of the night was not a common occurrence in these parts.

One of the guards reached out hesitantly, “Ma’am are you okay?”

I waved him off, “I’m fine thank you, just took a little tumble from the balcony.” Wide eyes followed my vague gesture upward.

“Ma’am if you don’t mind my asking, why were you up there?”

I glared at him, slightly miffed, “It’s my house, why shouldn’t I be up there?”

A look of sheepish understanding flashed across his face, “Ah, I’m sorry ma’am, I’d heard that somebody had bought the old place. Nobody’s lived there since old Lorgren snuffed it a few decades ago and sometimes we get kids breaking in.” Pausing he looked at me with new speculation in his eyes “Say miss, why’d you fall anyway?”

I gritted my teeth as my ankle started to throb persistently. “The house is rather decrepit, I suppose the railing must have been loose.” Not really an answer, but he didn’t seem interested in questioning my story. Offering me a hand up, he was kind enough to give me an escort to the Count’s Arms, suggesting quite gallantly that perhaps I should stay there until some workmen could be called to check over the house and make sure it was structurally safe. I thanked him as nicely as I could, I wasn’t sure what the Anvil Watch’s policy was on ghosts, but I wasn’t taking the risk that this was a raze the building and salt the ground type of city. I had paid good coin for my house, and it was going to remain whole and unburnt thank you very much.

In the morning I plotted my course of action, ghosts were not terribly difficult to disperse, at least temporarily, and if my house was haunted I wanted to know why. It was with this in mind that I found myself sneaking back through my own front door like a particularly inept burglar small silver dagger purchased from the local smith clutched in one hand. Magic was theoretically a better option for hunting ghosts, but I wasn’t keen on the idea of accidentally burning down my new home or damaging it anymore than I had to. Tiptoeing silently through the front room, keeping my ears perked for the tell-tale hum of a specters movements I was struck by the realization that something was different. The grand chandelier was still shattered on the floor, broken furniture still abounded, but…that vase had been on top of the cupboard last night; hadn’t it?

Carefully shifting through the dusty shards, I gingerly pulled out what appeared to be several pages ripped from a book and…oh, that was hand. Yay.

Slipping the mercifully fleshless appendage into a pocket I eased back out through the front door and carefully locked it behind me. In the clear daylight I could see that the pages I’d found were clearly handwritten, probably part of a journal, and very, very old. Sitting on the steps I began to read.

_2 Sun's Dawn 3E335_

_The people of Anvil are worms! How dare they criticize what they don't understand! I shall have my vengeance in a form they cannot possibly imagine. I shall use the souls of the departed to prolong my own life. The Tome is very specific. I must have more bodies... yes... more bodies._

Oh…

_11 Sun's Dawn 3E335_

_I must protect myself from those meddlers. They shall not interfere in my designs. I have constructed a room in the basement of this manor. It is there I will inter my corporeal self and I will transcend this plane of existence. Only a true-blooded Benirus may open the portal, so if I fail, however unlikely that may be, a descendant may attempt to follow in my footsteps to carry on the true way. To make sure our secret is safe, I have harnessed the spirits of those whose bodies I have defiled to forever guard that place._

Velwyn is SO dead when I find him…

_15 Sun's Dawn 3E335_

_The fools think I don't hear them speaking? I can hear their rumor and innuendo. They intend to meddle in powers they can barely comprehend. They call me an old fool and shun me. The young dare each other to step one foot in my yard. I have become the stuff of old wives tales and campfire stories. They dismiss me as an oddity. But soon they will see. When all of Anvil lies in waste around me, when their corpses litter the streets and their blood dampens the earth... only then will my true power be known and feared._

Well…crap, I had expected there to have been a murder, some bloody violent crime with the souls of victims crying out for revenge, but this…this was just icky.

Carefully folding up the pages, I made my way back to the Count’s Arms. It would appear that I had a necromancer’s relative to find, and Gods help him when I do.

Velwyn Benirus, as it turned out, was not a particularly hard man to find. A quick word with the publican of the Count’s Arms, Wilbur, revealed that he had run up a rather impressive bar tab, a tab that he had neglected to pay in his mad dash out of Anvil. For a few septims and a sympathetic ear, Wilbur was willing to was more than happy to tell me all about the Benirus family’s connections in the Imperial City, along with the name of a hotel in the Elven Gardens District Velwyn was fond of.

That’s where I found him a week later, holed up in the darkest corner of the hotel restaurant, trying so desperately to be sneaky that it was a little sad. The man’s guilty conscious would have been less obvious if he screamed ‘I COMMITTED REAL ESTATE FRAUD!’ at the top of his lungs on the steps of the temple of Zenithar. As it was the scent of the his guilt hung almost as thick in the air as the stench of whatever cheap bar swill he was drowning himself in. A scent that only thickened when he spied me across the room.

This was going to be fun.

 “Ah my friend! I'm surprised to see you all the way out here in the Imperial City! I-“

“Ghosts.” The smile faded a bit.

 “Beg pardon friend?”

I sat down across from him, pulling away his tankard and gazing idly into its foamy depths.

“The house you sold me, is full of ghosts.”

“Well it’s a grand old building isn't it? Any such home could be said to be possessed of a certain spirit eh? Why if those walls could speak-”

“They’d say you’re a dirty cheat Benirus” At this he began to sputter indignantly, “My dear Lady-!”

Contemplatively I took a small sip of the swiped drink, almost gagging at the sour taste before pushing it back to him. “Do you know what the penalty is Benirus? For selling a house that you know is haunted?”

“I knew nothing of the kind!”

“Really? Because apparently it’s something of an Anvil legend, some sort of nasty business with your grandfather?”

"So you think I’M responsible?”

“Indubitably.”

“I-“ His voice cut off with a shrill squeak as he felt the sharp tip of my dagger graze his thigh, his eyes rounding as he realized how very, very close I was to cutting into an artery, or perhaps something even more sensitive.

“I suppose you're right, as the manor used to belong my grandfather, Lorgren Benirus. I knew there was a curse on that place which is why I sold it to you so cheap.” Little beads of sweat broke out over his face as I dug the dagger in a little. “I suppose I should've warned you, but I had to get out of Anvil! My family said I could move here to the Imperial City once all our loose ends were tied down! And the manor… the manor was one of those loose ends.”

Pulling out a rather ragged handkerchief he moped at his face, trying to assume what he clearly thought was a charming smile. “I fear my own greed got the better of my judgment. I hope you weren't hurt badly in that horrible place. I suppose I assumed you'd be able to lift the curse and be done with it."

“What if you had sold it to someone who wasn’t a damned mage? You do realize they probably would have been ‘hurt badly’? Whatever happened to trap those souls, they’re out for blood now.” Glaring at him a moment, I sheathed my dagger in disgust, slamming the blade home with such force that the idiot man in front of me jumped, quivering like a rabbit scared out of its thicket. Twitching nervously  and trying to hold his smile, he continued.

“Ah, yes well, Lorgren Benirus. My grandfather, was a strange old man, always dabbling and experimenting with magic. He was mostly harmless, until the fateful day he came across a tome bearing the evil magic of necromancy.” Velwyn’s voice had dropped to a whisper, his eyes wide with fear. “He became obsessed and decided that by using necromancy, he could prolong his own life. The dark arts contained in the tome called for him to dig up the recently deceased in the nearby crypts under the cathedral. When it was discovered that he did this, the Mages Guild called for a quick meeting to decide what to do. It only took minutes to decide. Led by a young upstart named Carahil, the Mages Guild stormed Benirus Manor and slew Lorgren. However, amid the chaos, his body vanished-“

“Are you sure they killed him?”

Velwyn huffed in irritattion, miffed at the derailment of his story, his fear of my knife lost in the excitement of sordid tale telling.

“Of course they killed him! And then they ransacked the place, but they never found his body. Because of this, the people of Anvil concluded the manor must be cursed. You are the first person to set foot inside in a long time. My family wants nothing to do with the place, and neither do I! You bought the house; you'll have to deal with it."

“Oh really?” I thoughtfully traced a finger over the table grain, contemplating the puffed up little swit before me.

“Yes! I'm sorry; I can't help you with the curse, but you got the place for a steal, buyer beware and all that. Anyway you seem to be a capable woman, I’m sure you can just, er- What are you doing?” As he spoke I had been rummaging through my pockets, pulling out some potions vials, a few scraps of herbs and finally, the skeletal hand. Placing it delicately on the table before him I noted with some amusement that Velwyn had gone a rather interesting shade of green, his earlier enjoyment of his story forgotten in light of the rather grisly evidence. Still smiling I handed over the scraps from Lorgren’s diary.

“I thought perhaps you should have these, family heirlooms and all that.”

He read them silently, his expression morphing from disgust to horror to shame. Finally done, he looked up at me.

“I didn’t realize…Gods he was a monster! Those poor people! According to the diary entry, it seems that I'm the only one who can open the secret door in the manor. I don’t know anything about magic…but I’ll try to help you. I can't help feeling slightly guilty selling you the place under these circumstances. I'll come with you back to Anvil, we can try lifting the curse together.” Looking back at the scraps of journal and the disembodied hand, he shuddered in distaste. “Please will you take these…things with you? I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t want them near me.”

Feeling just a little bad I gathered up the offending items and shoved them back in my pockets. Having spent my childhood poking around old crypts and forgotten ruins, bones really didn’t bother me much, though I would have preferred to turn them over to a priest of Arkay for disposal. I couldn’t fathom why Lorgren had secreted such items away in that vase, but since he had they were probably important, certainly it seemed like the ghosts had wanted me to find them.

The ride back to Anvil was mostly silent, Velwyn stewing over this new, troubling chapter of his family history being uncovered as I pondered how in Oblivion we were going to fix this mess. Lorgren Benirus was, I was fairly certain, dead. The real question was HOW dead. I don’t know much about Necromancy, other than that it is, at it’s core; about reanimation. In every instance of it that I’ve encounted, the thing being reanimated is a mindless husk, a shadow of flesh and bone sustained by magic. Supposedly though there are…other, more profane uses. Avenues of study open to those who don’t mind risking life and soul to cheat death. Given the contents of Lorgren Benirus’s diary it seemed likely that he had at the very least dabbled in that side of the craft, though what he would have created I’ve no notion, and no particularly desire to find out.

There are horrors in this world, ancient and nameless, which feel no pain and cannot die. I prayed to all the gods we weren’t about to face one.


End file.
